


I'm Sorry

by gckinsey



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Apologies, Awkwardness, Cute, Dancing, Drunkenness, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Grand Prix Final Banquet, Japanese, Language, M/M, Minor Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Misunderstandings, Pole Dancing, Romantic Fluff, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Русский | Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gckinsey/pseuds/gckinsey
Summary: “That was Yuuri Katsuki from Japan you just royally insulted,” Yakov grunts.“Not like that loser didn’t deserve it!” Yuri pipes up.Viktor’s mouth falls open.“Thatwas Yuuri Katsuki?”In which Viktor feels really terrible about the whole commemorative photo incident and apologizes to Yuuri in The Most ExtraTMway possible, only for Yuuri to drink too much to remember it. An expanded take on the banquet scene.





	1. Sochi

_Whoa_ — _that guy is adorable._

It’s not something Viktor often thinks about his fans. Or ever thinks, really. Sure, he notices from time to time that some of them are good-looking. But it’s always in a vague, offhand sort of way — just a flicker at the back of his mind as he poses with them for pictures or signs their things. He’s never looked a fan in the face and felt a real spark of attraction.

Until now.

The fan in question is staring at him, eyes wide behind his blue-framed glasses, frozen in shock. Or maybe fear. That’s also something Viktor’s not exactly used to. He may be a legend in the world of figure skating, but at the end of the day, he’s still a figure skater and not a movie star or anything… so it’s not often that fans get _this_ starstruck over him.

In this fan’s case, his nerves only make him look infinitely cuter. Viktor can’t help but smile as he steps forward to break the ice.

“A commemorative photo?” he offers, since words seem to have completely failed the man staring at him. “Sure.”

Viktor tilts his head in a clear invitation. But instead of approaching him and pulling out his phone for a selfie, the fan turns on his heel and rushes away.

 _Well, shit_ , Viktor thinks as he watches him go. He hadn’t meant to scare the guy off. _Maybe I should have just asked for his number instead. Unless that would have scared him even more…_

He’s still debating it when he feels a hand whack the back of his head.

“Ow!” he hisses, whirling around straight into the face of his coach. “Yakov! What was that for?”

Yakov just shakes his head.

“Is this thing so swollen,” he says, lightly knocking his fist against Viktor’s temple, “that you’re treating your fellow competitors like fans now? Jesus Christ, Viktor. Way to set an example for Yuri.”

Yuri Plisetsky, still standing nearby from when he’d been talking to Viktor a few moments ago, lets out a snort.

Viktor stares at Yakov blankly.

“…What?”

“That was Yuuri Katsuki from Japan you just royally insulted,” Yakov grunts.

“Not like that loser didn’t deserve it!” Yuri pipes up.

Viktor’s mouth falls open.

“ _That_ was Yuuri Katsuki?”

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. He feels the same way he does on the rare occasion when he messes up a jump and his ass hits the ice. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_.

He carefully conceals the maelstrom of panic inside him from Yakov and Yuri with an innocent shrug.

“…He looks completely different in glasses.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, he looks like an even bigger _dork_.” Yakov brushes past, muttering something under his breath about how Viktor is “unbelievable.” Viktor ignores both of them.

All he can think about is the look of horror he’d inadvertently put on Yuuri Katsuki’s extremely adorable face.

Viktor can’t believe he didn’t recognize him. Can’t believe he made such a colossal mistake, after all the times he’s watched Yuuri skate and been absolutely mesmerized by the musicality flowing through every inch of his body. Can’t believe he’s been well aware of Yuuri’s beauty on the ice for quite some time, but never realized just how gorgeous he was off it until today.

He has to fix this.

He's half-tempted to turn around and run after Yuuri. But Yuuri has to be long gone by now. There’s no way Viktor could catch up to him.

“…Make sure you’re in your suit by five,” Viktor overhears Yakov telling Yuri up ahead, “you’ve got an interview scheduled before the banquet,” and warm relief floods through his chest.

The banquet. _Of course._ He can fix it there.

Viktor pulls out his phone and searches back through his emails, trying different terms until he finds the old message he’s looking for. In a few hours, he’s going to talk to Yuuri, and he’s going to make everything right. But he has some preparations to make first.

* * *

 “Viktor Nikiforov!” Mamiko’s voice is warm and clear, even over the slight static of their Skype connection. “How wonderful to hear from you!”

Viktor smiles back.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he says. “I know the time must be terrible for you.”

“There’s no bad time for the Grand Prix Final gold medalist,” Mamiko says. “I saw you just won it again for the fifth year in a row… congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Viktor says.

“Now,” Mamiko asks, “what can I do for you? Are you planning another trip back to Japan? I’d be happy to be your interpreter again.”

“That’s not it, I’m afraid,” Viktor says. He winces a little at what he’s about to ask of her. “I need your help. Urgently.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“What did you do? Please don’t tell me you started an international incident between Russia and Japan...”

Viktor rubs his hand over his face, pushing his fingers through the ends of his hair. _She’s not too far off the mark_ , he thinks.

“That’s… not important,” he says, trying and failing to push the memory of Yuuri’s wounded expression out of his thoughts. “I just… need you teach me how to say something in Japanese.”

His hands unconsciously crease the piece of paper he’s holding, covered in a scribbled mess of both English and Russian. Several of the words have been marked out and replaced.

“Okay,” Mamiko smirks, “let’s hear it, then.”

Viktor clears his throat, very carefully looking at the paper and not at Mamiko’s face on his screen.

“ _I apologize for not recognizing you earlier_ ,” he reads. “ _You look very different on and off the ice, but I still should have realized who you were. I feel like an idiot for treating you like a fan instead of a fellow competitor, especially when I’m a fan of your skating style._ ” He licks his dry lips and finishes, “ _I’m truly sorry and I hope you can forgive me._ ”

There’s a brief moment of silence before he hears Mamiko chuckling softly.

“So... you and Katsuki, hmm?”

Viktor’s eyes shoot up.

“How did you — ?”

“It’s not like there were any other Japanese skaters competing against you,” she says, and Viktor suppresses a groan. “I’m impressed,” she adds. “You must really like him if you actually wrote out an apology…”

“Are you going to translate it for me or not?” Viktor snaps, which only makes Mamiko laugh harder.

“Of course,” she says. “But on one condition.”

“What’s that?” Viktor asks warily.

“There’s a story behind this,” Mamiko says, “and you’re going to tell me every single bit of it. In great detail.” Her eyes gleam in a way that lets him know he won’t get away with refusing. “Do we have a deal?”

Viktor sighs.

“…Yes. We do.”

* * *

Viktor ditches Yakov and his fellow Russian skaters as soon as he arrives at the banquet. He’s sure he’ll be hearing it from them later, but he doesn’t care. He has a skater to find and an apology to make, and right now his coach and teammates would only get in his way.

As Viktor’s eyes scan the hall for Yuuri, he constantly repeats the words Mamiko had taught him over and over in his head, even though he’s had them down for the past hour.

Viktor is fluent in two languages aside from his native Russian — English and French — and if there’s anything that learning those languages had taught him, it’s that memorizing words and spitting them back out is asking for trouble. Without actually understanding what you’re saying, there’s no way to know where you went wrong if you make a mistake.

But as dangerous as Viktor knows his plan is, he’s confident in it, too. His affinity for learning languages comes from an unusually good ear and a talent for accurately mimicking what he’s heard. Long before he understands the words, he picks up the rhythms and cadences, the patterns of speech. Mamiko had commended him on how quickly he'd learned to pronounce what she’d taught him — though she’d also warned him that his Japanese had a distinctly Russian accent.

 _Hopefully Yuuri won’t mind_ , Viktor thinks, _and he’ll still be able to understand me._ He shakes out his tight shoulders, trying his best to stay calm. _As long as he can tell what I’m saying, everything will be fine._

_Well… that, and as long as he forgives me, too._

It takes Viktor a lot longer to find Yuuri than he’d planned. Not long after he shakes off the rest of the Russian team, he thinks he spots Celestino Cialdini with his arm around someone who might be Yuuri, but their backs are turned and Viktor’s not a hundred percent sure. Then he’s being swept into one of Christophe Giacometti’s bear hugs without warning and dragged over to the bar. A cluster of would-be sponsors finds both of them there, and by the time Viktor has finished the necessary schmoozing with them, a couple of hours have gone by.

 _Shit_ , he thinks as he sets his empty glass down on the glossy wooden countertop. _I really have to find Yuuri now. What if he’s already left and I've missed him?_

It’s at that exact moment when he spots a familiar figure, now alone, across the room.

With his insides twisting in a mix of relief and nerves, Viktor takes a step in Yuuri’s direction — then stops in his tracks.

Yuuri really doesn’t look anything like he does on the ice — but it’s not just the addition of glasses and lack of a costume, as Viktor had thought earlier. Not tonight, anyway. The way Yuuri is slumped against the wall is a far cry from the poise and grace he usually exudes in his skating. He’s hiding next to a tray of people’s discarded champagne glasses, eyes downcast as he drinks from his own.

 _It’s no wonder_ , Viktor thinks, _after the way his free skate went_. Viktor had been backstage warming up when Yuuri had taken the ice, but after the whole commemorative photo incident, he’d gone back to his hotel room and found the footage from Yuuri’s performance. He’d winced as he watched Yuuri flub jump after jump, feeling worse than ever about snubbing him in the wake of those mistakes.

While Viktor hasn’t had something go that wrong on a stage as big as the Grand Prix Final, he’s no stranger to failure during competitions. He’d had some truly spectacular falls and ruined routines at the junior level, and even a few in his first senior season. His heart aches for what he knows Yuuri must be going through.

Just as Viktor is debating whether to go ahead and apologize to Yuuri or leave him alone, Yuuri throws back the rest of his champagne in one gulp and plunks his empty glass on the tray with the others. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles away from the wall… and in Viktor’s direction.

Before he can lose his nerve, Viktor steps out to intercept him.

“Katsuki-san,” he says, and Yuuri’s head snaps up, eyes widening as they meet Viktor’s.

Viktor clears his throat and begins.

“前からきずいてなかてすいません。あなたて氷でスケート中と出ってるのすがたで勘違いしてた あなたてファンじゃなくて 競争者しかもそのスケートスタイルて本当にすごいだわ。”

After Viktor finishes, Yuuri stares at him, expression completely unreadable.

As the seconds tick by, panic gnaws harder and harder at Viktor’s stomach. _Oh my God_ , he thinks. _I just pronounced everything wrong, didn’t I? I bet he didn’t understand any of that. Or maybe he thinks it was totally pretentious of me to apologize to him in his native language. Why didn’t I just do it in English? What if he thinks I’m an even bigger asshole now? This was such a mistake. Oh shit, oh fuck, oh —_

“Viktor!” Yuuri exclaims, his forlorn face suddenly bursting into a huge smile. “日本語てしゃべれる?” he says — which Viktor is pretty sure means _you speak Japanese?_ — and then launches into a rapid-fire string of words that Viktor can’t even begin to understand.

“Whoa, whoa,” Viktor says, “wait, I…” He hesitates, sucking in a breath and steeling himself for what he’s about to admit. “I’m afraid that was all the Japanese I know. Do you mind if we switch to English?”

Yuuri just laughs.  

“Sure,” he says, “English is fine!”

Viktor lets out a nervous huff of laughter too, thankful that Yuuri doesn’t seem to realize Viktor learned all the Japanese he knows _just for him._

 _“_ What did you say just now?” Viktor asks.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, “just that you don’t have to call me Katsuki-san. Yuuri is fine.” He leans in a little and adds, “You know… I can teach you some more Japanese if you want.” And damn, if _that_ isn’t irresistible.

Viktor knows an opportunity when he sees it. He steps forward and links his arm through Yuuri’s, steering them toward a nearby table.

“Okay, Yuuri,” Viktor smiles, indulgently drawing out the syllables of his name. “That would be lovely.”

* * *

It’s about five minutes into their conversation when Viktor realizes Yuuri is absolutely _wasted_.

Everything had started out just fine. More than fine, actually, with Yuuri’s face so close and his knee brushing lightly against Viktor’s under the table. Smile wide and eyes shining, he’d translated basic phrases from English into Japanese, repeating them as many times as Viktor needed to get them down.

Viktor is just putting together the introduction they’ve gone over — “こんにちは、僕の名は ヴィクトル ニキフォロフ よろしくお願いします。” which means _Hi, I’m Viktor Nikiforov, it’s nice to meet you_ — when Yuuri suddenly lets out a little squeal.

“Oh my God, your accent is _so cute!_ ” he says, and then immediately slaps his hands over his face.

 _Oh_ , Viktor thinks, warmth spreading through his chest. _Oh. I can work with this_.

He leans forward, further into Yuuri’s space than he’s dared all night, and purrs, “Is it, now?"

Yuuri lowers his fingers just enough to meet Viktor’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud… Phichit tells me I always lose my filter when I’ve had too much to drink...”

“No need to apologize,” Viktor says. “You can tell me how cute my accent is all you want.”

Then he realizes what Yuuri just said, and remembers the way he’d stumbled a bit on their way to the table, and puts two and two together.

 _Wait a minute_ , he thinks, his mind jumping back to the tray of empty champagne glasses Yuuri had been standing next to when Viktor had found him. _Did Yuuri drink ALL of those? Holy shit!_

Yuuri’s hands are back in his lap now, no longer hiding his flushed cheeks. His smile is loose and easy, like he’s forgotten all about his embarrassment from only thirty seconds ago.

“Okay then,” he says, “your accent is cute. _Really_ cute. In Japanese _and_ English.”

 _Yes_ , Viktor thinks, _he definitely drank them all._

Before Viktor can thank him for the compliment, Yuuri adds, “Can I tell you something else?”

“Sure,” Viktor smiles.

Yuuri glances down at the tabletop for a moment, biting his lower lip, before looking back up into Viktor’s eyes.

“You know how you thought I was a fan earlier? Well… you weren’t exactly wrong.”

Viktor quirks an eyebrow, curiosity drowning out the unpleasant twist in his gut at the reminder of what he’d done.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean, I’ve been following your career for over a decade. I have posters of you all over my room at home… like, twenty of them. I even named my pet poodle after you.” For some reason, Yuuri looks a bit sad at that last part, but he quickly shakes his head and recovers. “You’re the reason I wanted to become a competitive figure skater,” he continues, “and I —” He breaks off with a little laugh. “I can’t believe I’m even talking to you right now.”

Viktor stares at Yuuri, eyes wide.

“Yuuri,” he says breathlessly.

“It’s always been my dream to compete against you,” Yuuri continues, “and maybe even impress you, just the tiniest bit. But when I finally got that chance... I totally blew it.” He sighs, eyes downcast. “That’s why I walked away from you earlier. I felt bad for ignoring you, but after everything that happened… I just couldn’t do it. I wanted to meet you more than anything, but not — not like that."

Viktor feels like the floor has dropped out from underneath him. He can’t even _begin_ to process everything Yuuri has just told him. _What on earth do I say in a situation like this?_ he wonders.

He gazes at Yuuri, with his slumped shoulders and defeated eyes, and something twists around his heart. He has no idea what to do, but he’ll give it his best shot.

“Yuuri,” he says, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Before every competition, I research the skaters I’m up against and watch videos of their performances. That’s how I determine which ones are the biggest threat to my spot on the podium. And you know who that was for this Grand Prix Final? Chris Giacometti and you.”

Yuuri blinks up at Viktor, mouth falling open.

“…What?”

“Chris and I have been competing against each other for years,” Viktor says, “and I know what I can expect from him. He makes the podium with me all the time — he tends to finish with high scores and keeps me on my toes with my base jump value. But you… you’re completely different. I’ve seen plenty of skaters who are good at connecting with their music, but very few who skate like they’re _creating_ music. And that’s exactly what you do.”

Yuuri’s eyes light up, and Viktor gives him a reassuring smile.

“You may not be as consistent of a jumper as Chris or me,” Viktor continues, “but it’s your artistry that sets you apart and makes you a threat. You can always improve on your jumps with practice, but that sense of musicality… it’s such a hard thing to learn, and you have it in spades.” He reaches out and lays his hand on Yuuri’s arm. “So don’t worry about one competition that didn’t go your way… you’d already impressed me before you ever took the ice.”

Yuuri spends the next few seconds staring at Viktor, face red and lips parted in something between a gasp and a smile.

“Viktor,” he whispers, “I - I…” He gulps in a breath. “Thank you… thank you so much. 本当にありがとうございます. You have no idea what that means to me… I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

Viktor gives Yuuri’s arm a squeeze before letting it go.

“How about you thank me by teaching me to say one more thing?” he asks.

“O-of course!” Yuuri says. “Anything!”

Viktor smirks at Yuuri from underneath the ends of his silver hair.

“Suppose I’m at a banquet talking to a very attractive Japanese guy,” Viktor says, and he has to hold back his laughter at the way Yuuri splutters and turns even redder. “How would I ask him to dance?”

It looks like it takes everything in Yuuri to meet Viktor’s gaze, and his voice is trembling when he answers.

“You would say, いっしょにダンスしませんか?”  

Viktor repeats the unfamiliar syllables in his head a couple of times, then nods and says, “Okay.” He stands up and comes around to Yuuri’s side of the table, extending his hand.

“Yuuri,” he says, “いっしょにダンスしませんか?”

* * *

Yuuri, it turns out, is an incredible dancer. Especially considering he’s drunk off his ass.

He’d tripped a little as they’d made their way to the floor, grip tightening on Viktor’s hand as he’d steadied himself.

But as soon as Viktor had pulled Yuuri into his arms and started leading them in a waltz, Yuuri’s feet had turned downright _graceful_. He could dance just as beautifully as he could skate, apparently… maybe even more so. It was kind of unfair. 

“Where did you learn to dance?” Viktor asks as he draws Yuuri back in from a turn.

“Welllll,” Yuuri slurs, laughing a little as Viktor pulls them both into a spin, “I started with ballet when I was really young… too young to remember. It was before I started skating. And I’ve been in ballet classes between skating practices ever since then.” 

“Ballet classes are the best for balance and flexibility,” Viktor says. “I take them, too.”

“My friends also got me to join some dance clubs and take lessons in college,” Yuuri says. “Like ballroom.”

“Did you compete?” Viktor asks.

“Oh, no,” Yuuri says, “I just did it for fun.” 

“Really?” Viktor’s eyebrows shoot up. “You seem a lot better than someone who did it just for fun.”

Yuuri’s face flushes.

“My skating helps my dancing and my dancing helps my skating, I guess.”  

Viktor leads him through a series of spins, just to test him. Yuuri follows every one of his motions perfectly.

“I’ll say it does,” Viktor smiles as Yuuri giggles breathlessly. “With those skills, I’m surprised you’re in singles skating instead of pairs or ice dancing.” 

“Oh, no,” Yuuri says. “Dancing with someone else is fun… but skating? No way.” 

“Have you ever tried it?” Viktor asks.

“I don’t need to try something that looks _that_ terrifying,” Yuuri says firmly. 

The song comes to a close and Viktor dips Yuuri low to the floor.

“It’s not so bad,” he murmurs as he slowly pulls Yuuri up, “with the right partner.” 

Yuuri takes a step back, breathing heavily and staring at Viktor with wide eyes and parted lips. It’s almost the exact same look he’d given Viktor when they’d been leaving the arena. _So, so adorable_ , Viktor thinks.

A new song begins — something jazzy and upbeat — and Yuuri instantly grasps Viktor’s hands.

“Come on!” he says, “let’s swing!”

“Swing?” Viktor repeats as Yuuri pulls their bodies closer together, taking the lead position this time. “I don’t know how to swing!” 

“It’s okay!” Yuuri laughs, “I do!” 

“You’ll have to forgive my footwork,” Viktor says as they launch into the dance, but it turns out to be pretty easy to pick up. Yuuri is even better at leading than he is at following, and he expertly pushes and pulls Viktor’s body in whatever direction he needs it to go. As soon as he sees that Viktor is matching his steps, Yuuri starts swinging him into more complicated turns. 

“Ready?” Yuuri asks, and suddenly Viktor’s legs are in the air as he’s being tossed across Yuuri’s back, rolled effortlessly from one side to the other.

“That was _not_ enough warning!” Viktor gasps as he somehow manages to land on his feet. 

Yuuri just cackles and twists Viktor’s body to spin in one direction, then the other, getting him nice and dizzy just before pulling him in close. They dance through a few steps like that, with Viktor’s back flush against Yuuri’s chest and Yuuri’s arms crossed over Viktor’s waist, before Yuuri leads him into a final turn for the end of the song. They finish in a cheesy pose, hands joined in the middle and their other hands stretched out to the sides. 

“Viktor!” 

Both of them freeze at the furious shout from behind them. Still holding onto Yuuri’s hand, Viktor turns to look over his shoulder. 

Yuri Plisetsky is stalking toward them. 

“Hi, Yuri!” Viktor greets him.

“I have been looking for you for hours,” Yuri growls, “only to find out you ditched me to make a fool of yourself with the other Yuuri? How dare you.”

Before Viktor can say a word, Yuuri takes a step forward, yanking off his suit jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair. 

“You,” he says, getting up in Yuri’s face. “Me. Dance-off. Now.” 

Yuri’s hands clench into fists at his sides. 

“What the hell?” he spits. 

“You heard me!” Yuuri says. 

Yuri crosses his arms and huffs, “I am _not_ dancing with you.”

“I know,” Yuuri replies. “I said dance-off. That means you’re dancing _against_ me. And if you win,” he smirks, “then I’ll retire, just like you said.”  

Yuri unbuttons his suit jacket and loosens his tie.

“All right, dumbass,” he says, “you’re on.” 

“Yuri,” Viktor scolds, “you told him to retire?” but both of them are already halfway across the dance floor, taking their positions facing off at opposite sides. 

Viktor shrugs and settles back against the edge of an empty table to watch. 

The dance battle between Yuuri and Yuri ends up drawing a crowd. They don’t follow the steps of any particular dance, instead just making up the moves as they go and letting the music tell them what to do. They’re both excellent, their years of skating and dance lessons paying off, and Yuri holds his own against Yuuri better than Viktor had expected. 

Until Yuuri starts break dancing.

The surrounding crowd bursts into cheers, and Viktor steps forward with his phone. He is _absolutely_ getting pictures of this. 

When the song comes to an end, Yuuri turns toward the crowd and takes the same kind of sweeping bow that he does after a routine on the ice. Yuri grudgingly does the same thing, even though he knows that most of the applause is no longer for him. 

Yuuri is just getting his jacket back on when Chris emerges from somewhere in the crowd with an entire bottle of champagne. 

“Yuuri!” he exclaims, taking Yuuri’s hand and pressing the bottle into it. “Congratulations on absolutely _slaying_ that dance-off!”  

“Oh my God, Chris,” Viktor says, “don’t give him that!” But his words are drowned out by Yuri growling, “Hey! What about me?” 

Chris turns to ruffle the younger skater’s hair, which only makes him seethe even harder.

“You were great too, Yuri,” he says, “but I think we all know who the winner is, right?” He raises Yuuri’s hand in the air, turning toward the crowd for confirmation. “Yuuri Katsuki!”

Yuuri takes a long swig from the bottle as everyone bursts into another round of applause, then turns to Yuri with a grin. 

“That’s right,” he says. “I won. I guess that means I’m not retiring after all. So look out, because next year I might beat you on the ice too!”

“You _wish_!” Yuri shouts. 

“Yuuri,” Chris says, “how about a dance-off with me next?”

“Okay!” Yuuri laughs, downing more champagne. “Challenge accepted!” 

The next song begins and Yuuri starts moving to the music, trailing a stream of champagne behind him. Viktor can’t help but sneak a few more pictures. Chris finally steps in and grabs Yuuri’s arm to tilt the bottle back in the right direction, but Yuuri just brings it to his mouth again.

“I didn’t mean a dance-off here on the floor,” Chris says. He turns Yuuri to face the other side of the room. “I meant on _that_.”

 _Holy shit_ , Viktor thinks, following the direction of Chris’ gaze. _Why is there a stripper pole in here?_

To Viktor’s further shock, Yuuri’s eyes light up when he spots it.

“Ohhhh,” he says, “you are _so on!_ ”

And suddenly both his and Chris’ pants are on the ground.

 _This is it_ , Viktor thinks, drinking in the sight of Yuuri’s smooth, supple thighs. _This is how I die._

Chris keeps stripping all the way down to his extremely tiny underwear. Yuuri tries to copy him and manages to get out of his jacket and mostly out of his shirt before his tie ends up stuck around his head, almost knocking his glasses off his face. As soon as he sets them back into place, his eyes land on Viktor.

He gives up on fixing his clothes and instead rushes forward to wrap his arms around Viktor’s waist.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, and oh fuck, he’s grinding his pelvis against Viktor’s. There’s no way Viktor is going to survive this night. Yuuri slurs something in Japanese — Viktor thinks he recognizes the word for _hot spring_ somewhere in there.

 _Jesus, Yuuri_ , he thinks, _you really are trying to kill me_.

Yuuri’s eyes widen as though he’s suddenly had a brilliant idea, and he starts speaking again… thankfully in English this time.

“If I win this dance-off,” he says, “you’ll become my coach, right?”

Viktor freezes in surprise and amusement. He’s never coached anyone before. He would probably be spectacularly bad at it. _Where on earth is this coming from?_ he thinks. _Is Yuuri so drunk that he has no clue what he’s saying anymore?_

But then Yuuri is throwing his arms around Viktor’s shoulders and repeating his request, begging, “Be my coach, Viktor!” Viktor feels every one of Yuuri’s words against his neck. His face floods with heat.

And in that moment, he realizes that whatever Yuuri Katsuki asks of him, no matter how ridiculous it is, there’s no way he can say no.

* * *

Chris presses his phone into Viktor’s hand just before he and Yuuri start their dance-off. 

“Take pictures for me!” he says, and Viktor tries not to nod too eagerly. He was going to keep taking pictures for himself anyway, but this gives him a convenient excuse for it not to be weird. He moves into a prime vantage spot and holds the phone up in front of him as Yuuri and Chris take their positions. 

Yuuri on the pole is one of the most erotic things Viktor has seen in his entire life.

Yuuri twists his body into all sorts of poses and shapes — they’re familiar, but they look completely different now than they do on the ice. His muscles swell and clench as he moves sensuously around the pole. At one point, he holds himself upside down with those luscious thighs and slowly, teasingly slips off the unbuttoned dress shirt that’s still hanging from his shoulders. He tosses it into the crowd and Viktor catches it.

Chris chooses that moment to join Yuuri on the pole. A series of confusing and conflicting thoughts run through Viktor’s head in rapid succession as the two of them put on their show. He wants to watch this forever. He wants to see Yuuri dance like this just for him and not for an audience. He wants to be the one up there on the pole with Yuuri instead of Chris — scratch that, he wants to be the pole.

He texts every picture he takes on Chris’ phone to himself, then hastily deletes the sent messages when the music comes to a close. As the crowd bursts into their wildest cheers of the night, Viktor steps forward to help Yuuri down.

“Did I win?” Yuuri asks, and promptly stumbles and falls into Viktor’s chest.

“Whoa!” Viktor laughs, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s middle to steady him. “Careful!” He loosens his grip once Yuuri’s feet are stable, but he doesn’t let go. “And it looks like I’ll have to get to work on my coaching skills,” he adds with a grin, “because you _definitely_ won.”

“Yay!” Yuuri exclaims, winding his arms around Viktor’s neck. He spins them around in a circle, giggling uncontrollably.

“Come on,” Viktor smiles when they come to a stop, somewhat reluctantly giving Yuuri his shirt back. “Let’s go find your pants.” 

“They should be right over here where I left mine,” Chris says from behind them, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders. He guides them toward a table where the rumpled pieces of his abandoned suit lay scattered next to Yuuri's. Yuuri manages to get his pants and shoes back on and two of the buttons of his shirt done before he gives up and twirls into a pirouette. Chris just stays in his underwear.

“Okay, Viktor,” Yuuri says, “your turn next!”

“My turn?” Viktor asks. “For what?”

“For the best dance-off yet!” Yuuri cries out, throwing his fist into the air.

“You want a dance-off against me?” Viktor says.

“Yes!” Yuuri grins. 

“Well then,” Viktor smirks back, “I hope you’re ready to lose.”

Yuuri’s eyes practically _burn_ into Viktor’s. 

“No. Way.”

He stalks to the other side of the floor, where he strikes a saucy pose with one leg extended and a hand on his hip. He locks eyes with Viktor again and moves his body in a slow roll, ending with a sharp and not at all subtle pelvic thrust. Heat rushes from Viktor’s neck all the way up to his hairline. 

A new songs starts, one with a lively pulsing rhythm, and Viktor wracks his brain for the Latin dances he knows the steps to. _Salsa, mambo… just enough cha-cha to be dangerous…_  

Yuuri is already miles ahead of him, moving across the floor in a complicated series of spins and turns, and Viktor remembers he’s supposed to be competing. 

He’d had no intention of letting Yuuri win. Really. But it’s hard to think, much less dance, when Yuuri is twisting his body into such alluring shapes right in front of him. Viktor settles for trying to match Yuuri move for move, catching glimpses of Yuuri’s smoldering eyes between steps. 

He’s just followed Yuuri out of a dizzying spin when he feels a warm hand on his back, and suddenly he’s in Yuuri’s arms, being led in a flamenco dance.

“Hi,” Yuuri grins, gently bumping their foreheads together.

Viktor’s face is on _fire_.

“I thought this was a dance-off,” he swallows. 

“It was,” Yuuri grins, “but now it’s a dance- _on_.” He giggles at his own stupid drunken joke, and Viktor can’t help but laugh too.

“How do I know this isn’t your way of cheating?” Viktor teases.

“Because I don’t need to cheat at a dance-off to win,” Yuuri says, and _damn_ , Viktor thinks, _where was that confidence when he was on the ice? With that attitude, he would have been on the podium with me for sure._ As if to prove his point, Yuuri finishes the song by raising Viktor’s leg and lowering the rest of his body in a dip. 

They’re still nose to nose, breathless with laughter, when Yuuri pulls Viktor back up and says, “I’d rather dance with you than against you.” 

A new song begins, with a rhythm that Viktor recognizes as a tango. He draws Yuuri in and presses him flush against his own body, letting his hand slide as low as he dares down Yuuri’s toned backside. Bracing his leg firmly between Yuuri’s, he gives a sensuous and deliberate roll of his hips.

“What was that,” he whispers in Yuuri’s ear, “about dancing against me?” 

Yuuri lets out a strangled little squeak.

“That’s what I thought,” Viktor says with a satisfied smile as he leads Yuuri into the steps. 

By the end of the song — which comes far too quickly for Viktor’s liking — Yuuri is flushed and panting, fingers trembling slightly where they rest in Viktor’s hand. 

“With you,” he murmurs against Viktor’s neck, “against you, I don’t care… let’s just keep dancing all night.”

And that’s it… Viktor is officially dead. Yuuri has been trying to kill him for hours and now he’s finally succeeded. _What a way to go_ , he thinks.

Mouth dry, he answers, “Okay.”

* * *

Viktor has lost track of how long they’ve been dancing. Song after song, they’ve spun each other around the banquet hall, sometimes in the steps of an actual dance, sometimes making up the moves as they go. Right now they’re just swaying back and forth to a slow pop ballad, arms wrapped around each other and Yuuri’s face tucked against the side of Viktor’s neck. The crowd has thinned out and they’re the only ones left on the dance floor.

 _The banquet will probably be ending soon_ , Viktor thinks with a sigh. His hand tightens unconsciously around Yuuri’s as he pulls their bodies even closer together. He’s not leaving until somebody kicks them out. Not when this is the happiest he can remember feeling in a long time.

By the time the music in the banquet hall has faded away, Yuuri is leaning heavily against Viktor, feet unsteady under the weight of all the champagne he’s consumed throughout the night.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks. “Are you okay?”

Yuuri slowly rolls his head up from Viktor’s shoulder to meet his eyes.

“I… I don’t feel so good,” he confesses quietly.

“As much as you had to drink?” Viktor teases. “I’m not surprised.” He braces one arm under Yuuri’s shoulders and guides him toward the lounge chairs near the bar. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go sit down.”

As soon as Viktor has Yuuri in a seat, he asks the bartender for a pitcher of water and a tall glass.

“Here,” Viktor says, returning to Yuuri’s side, “drink this, okay?”

Yuuri groans softly in reply.

“Please?” Viktor plies Yuuri with puppy-dog eyes. “I promise it will help.”

It’s only by holding the glass up to Yuuri’s lips that Viktor gets him to drink. Rubbing his back in comforting circles and whispering soft words of encouragement, Viktor helps Yuuri sip down the water a little at a time. They’re about halfway through Yuuri’s second glass when Yakov finds them, the rest of the Russian skating team trailing behind him.

“Viktor!” he barks. “Come on, up to your room to pack and get what little sleep you can. We leave for the airport in six hours.”

“You all go ahead,” Viktor says, “I need to take care of Yuuri.”

Yuri Plisetsky rolls his eyes and makes a retching sound.

“Yuuri’s coach can take care of him,” Yakov says, eyes narrowing as he takes in Yuuri’s drunken state. “You have somewhere to be.” 

“Yuuri’s coach isn’t here,” Viktor counters, “and I’m not leaving him alone.” His gaze bores into Yakov’s, firm and unyielding. “It’s the least I can do after what happened earlier at the arena.”

Yakov sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Don’t make us late,” he says as he walks away, leading the rest of Viktor’s teammates toward the elevators.

Viktor turns his attention back toward Yuuri, now sliding down onto the armrest of the couch with his eyes fluttering closed.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “hey. Don’t fall asleep on me yet, okay? I have to help you get back to your room.” 

It doesn’t hit Viktor until he says it out loud, and then — _oh, shit. I have to help him get back to his room_.

Viktor’s never taken care of a drunk person before. Usually he _is_ the drunk person. His mind races as he tries to piece together what his friends have done for him when he’s had too much. He knows the water is a good start, but he also needs to get Yuuri to bed — and soon, because Yuuri’s eyes are drifting closed again.

He briefly considers taking Yuuri back to his own room to nap while he packs for his flight, then decides it’s a terrible idea. There’s only one bed in Viktor’s room. The last thing he wants is for Yuuri to wake up in it and think Viktor took advantage of him.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, gently nudging him awake again. “You do have a room in this hotel, right?”

“Mmm,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Assuming that was a yes,” Viktor says, “what’s your room number?” 

Yuuri slurs something in Japanese, then slumps forward onto Viktor’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Viktor says, voice warm with amusement. “And in English?”

He’s expecting Yuuri to give him a number, but what he says instead is, “I can’t remember.” 

 _Oh, shit_.

“That’s all right,” Viktor says — mostly to calm down the panic buzzing in his own chest. “We’ll figure it out.” _Somehow. How? This would all be so much easier if his coach were here, like Yakov said…_ “Oh!” Viktor’s eyes light up. “Can I see your phone? We should call your coach.”

“Can’t,” Yuuri mumbles. “He has my phone.”

“ _What?_ ”

“He took it so I would stop reading what people were saying online after the competition,” Yuuri says. He yawns and settles more deeply against Viktor’s side. “I never got it back.”

“Oh my God,” Viktor groans under his breath. What kind of moron is Celestino Cialdini, that he would take his skater’s phone and then leave him alone at a banquet with no way to reach him? _Maybe I wouldn’t make such a terrible coach, after all,_ Viktor thinks. _At least I wouldn’t do something that stupid…_

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whimpers into Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor quickly presses a soothing hand against his back.

“No, no,” he says, “this is your coach’s fault, not yours…” He rubs circles between Yuuri’s shoulder blades while he considers his options. “Okay, let’s try this… do you have your room key?”

“Mm-hm,” Yuuri says, extricating himself from Viktor just enough to search through his pockets. When he finally pulls the little plastic card from his jacket with a smile, Viktor’s face floods with warm relief.

“Perfect,” he says. Except… he still has no idea which room this key opens.

 _Use your brain, Viktor_ , he tells himself, glancing up in the direction of the walkway that leads to the lobby. _What good is winning gold at the Grand Prix Final if you can’t pull a few strings with the host hotel?_

He starts to rise from the couch, letting his hand slide down to clasp Yuuri’s.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s get you back to your room.”

“Nooooo,” Yuuri sighs. “Lemme sleep.”

“You can’t sleep here,” Viktor says, tugging on Yuuri’s hand, “your neck would end up so stiff. Wouldn’t you rather sleep in your bed where it’s comfortable?”

“Nnnnngh,” Yuuri grunts.

“Exactly,” Viktor agrees, as if Yuuri had just said _yes._ He bends back down and slips his free arm under Yuuri’s shoulders. “We’re going to stand up now, okay?” 

Despite Yuuri’s protests, Viktor manages to pull him up from the couch and start guiding him out of the bar. Yuuri stumbles down the walkway the best he can, clinging tightly to Viktor and making the world’s most adorable little noises of protest every few steps. It’s almost a miracle that they make it to the front desk — and to Yuuri’s room after Viktor sweet-talks the receptionist into giving him the number. But finally, here they are, Yuuri tripping over the threshold as he lets Viktor guide him into the bathroom.

“Don’t… don’t look,” Yuuri says, suddenly jolting out of his stupor, and before Viktor even knows what’s happening, the bathroom door is slamming in his face.

Viktor spends the next few minutes scrolling back through the photos from the banquet on his phone while he tries to block out the muffled sounds of Yuuri throwing up, pissing, and throwing up again. Something tells him Yuuri would be horrified to know Viktor is aware of what he's doing — never mind that it’s completely normal for a drunk person, something Viktor himself has done plenty of times. Soon the sounds of Yuuri’s retching cease and give way to running water, which means he’s probably washing his face and brushing his teeth. There are a few minutes of silence after he turns off the faucet. Just when Viktor is about to come in and check on him, Yuuri pokes his head out of the door.

“Water,” he croaks, and Viktor hurries to grab a bottle from the mini-fridge in Yuuri’s room. He uncaps it and holds it up to Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri hums in relief as he swallows a few sips, then collapses against Viktor’s side. “Bed,” he groans into Viktor’s ear.

Viktor nods, shuffling out of the bathroom and guiding Yuuri along with him.

“Bed,” he agrees. He fluffs the pillows and pulls back the covers and is about to help Yuuri lie down when he realizes Yuuri’s still in his suit. “Oh… do you have something more comfortable to wear?”

Yuuri manages to string enough words together to help Viktor find a soft T-shirt and sweats in the dresser, and then Viktor spends the next fifteen minutes trying to pretend that hot waves of desire aren’t pulsing through his veins as he gets Yuuri out of his clothes. _It’s nothing you didn’t see when he was up on the pole_ , Viktor tries to tell himself, but somehow this is completely different. Especially with the way Yuuri keeps clinging to him for balance, pressing all that bare skin up against him. Viktor grits his teeth and helps Yuuri into the sleep clothes he’d selected before his thoughts can continue any further in _that_ direction.

Once Yuuri is fully changed, it’s not long before he sinks into the bed, eyes fluttering closed once again. Viktor bends down to tuck the covers around Yuuri so he won’t wake up shivering, then carefully pulls off his glasses and sets them on the nightstand. He gazes at Yuuri for a moment, enraptured by the way sleep relaxes his already beautiful face into something angelic. With a sigh, he finally reaches forward to turn off the bedside lamp — and feels Yuuri’s hand latch onto his.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, eyes cracking back open the tiniest bit. “Stay.”

Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s hand, and it feels like he’s squeezing his heart.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, “you have no idea how much I wish I could.” He brings Yuuri’s hand up to his lips for a kiss. “But you’re very drunk and I have a plane to catch.”

“Please,” Yuuri begs. “Please, stay with me.”

 _Cancel your flight_ , a voice in the back of Viktor’s head tempts him. _Reschedule it for tomorrow afternoon. Spend tonight sleeping by Yuuri’s side and take him out for a breakfast date tomorrow morning. It would be so easy._

But although he could do it, he knows he shouldn’t. Yakov is already going to be livid enough at him for spending most of the night neglecting his packing, not to mention his rest, to help Yuuri. He would absolutely murder Viktor for blowing off a day of practice to take a later flight, especially with Russian Nationals just around the corner. And aside from all that… Yuuri is much too drunk for Viktor to _think_ about spending the night with him, even in the most innocent of ways. 

He compromises by perching on the side of the bed and slowly stroking Yuuri’s hair until he falls asleep. He may not be able to stay as long as Yuuri wants, but this way, he can at least stay long enough. When Yuuri’s stopped stirring and his breathing has fallen even, certain not to wake, Viktor leans over and presses a tender kiss to his forehead. 

“Sweet dreams, моё солнышко,” he whispers.

Before he turns out the lights and slips from the room, he grabs a scrap of paper from the desk, scribbles _Viktor_ and his phone number onto it, and leaves it folded on the bedside table.  

It sits there until morning, when Yuuri wakes in a panic to broad daylight, frantically scrambles for his glasses, and knocks it to the floor.

* * *

Viktor doesn’t hear from Yuuri for months.

He checks his phone obsessively in the days that follow the Grand Prix Final, hoping for a call or text. When he doesn’t get one, he spends the next week stalking Yuuri on social media. And when all he finds is an Instagram account that hasn’t been updated in half a year, he starts complaining desperately to his friends. 

“Why won’t Yuuri talk to me?” Viktor moans — to Chris on the phone, to Yuri at the rink, to anyone who will listen.

Between his events at the Russian Nationals, Viktor watches a sketchy livestream of the Japanese ones, heart aching for Yuuri as he sees him flub jump after jump just like he had at the Grand Prix Final. The moment Viktor steps up to the top of the podium to receive his gold medal is bittersweet, knowing that he won’t be seeing Yuuri at Worlds.

That competition is the only thing that keeps Viktor from falling apart completely as the radio silence from Yuuri stretches on and on. He’s got another event to focus on, another title to win, another audience to surprise. Every day, he fights through the lonely despair that threatens to drown him, pushing his aging body to the limit to keep his place at the top of the world. _If I can’t have Yuuri_ , he barely manages to convince himself, _at least I can still have this._

That feeling carries him through Europeans to Worlds, but no further. The moment he finds out he’s won his fifth consecutive World Championship gold medal, he decides it’s going to be his last. He’s going to retire — not just from competition, but from the world of figure skating in general.

Until he sees the video.

The title alone — _Yuuri Katsuki Tried to Skate Viktor’s FS Program (Stay Close To Me)_ — takes his breath away. Actually watching it nearly kills him.

It’s a love letter, plain and simple. Every line Yuuri cuts across the ice, every movement he makes, every bit of music that pours from his body, is telling Viktor the same thing he’d whispered that night in his hotel room in Sochi: _Stay._ Viktor doesn’t know why he ever left.

He also doesn’t know why Yuuri chose to reach out to him this way when he could have just called. But he doesn’t care.

He books the first flight to Japan he can find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the 2018 [Victuri Big Bang](https://victuri-big-bang.tumblr.com/)! Thanks so much to the organizers for putting on this event.
> 
> The gorgeous [art](https://watery-silver.tumblr.com/post/179477391473/that-was-yuuri-katsuki-from-japan-you-just) for this fic was created by the fabulously talented [watery_silver](https://watery-silver.tumblr.com/)! I absolutely love it & I'm so happy we got to be collaborators for this big bang. (Be forewarned, the art contains spoilers for the next chapter!)
> 
> I also want to give a massive thanks to [bighouse.cos](https://www.instagram.com/bighouse.cos/) for the Japanese translations & [owlbearmedia](https://www.instagram.com/owlbearmedia/) for the Russian translations in this fic! I'm so lucky to have friends who are native Japanese & Russian speakers, & who are awesome enough to help me out with stuff like this even though they're not in the YOI fandom. Major props to both of them!
> 
> I did my best to either include the English with the Japanese & Russian bits of dialogue, or make it obvious what was being said from context. But just in case, here are the side by side translations for the phrases in this chapter:
> 
> 前からきずいてなかてすいません。あなたて氷でスケート中と出ってるのすがたで勘違いしてた あなたてファンじゃなくて 競争者しかもそのスケートスタイルて本当にすごいだわ。 | **I apologize for not recognizing you earlier. You look very different on and off the ice, but I still should have realized who you were. I feel like an idiot for treating you like a fan instead of a fellow competitor, especially when I’m a fan of your skating style. I’m truly sorry and I hope you can forgive me.**
> 
> 日本語てしゃべれる? | **You speak Japanese?**
> 
> こんにちは、僕の名は ヴィクトル ニキフォロフ よろしくお願いします。 | **Hi, I’m Viktor Nikiforov, it’s nice to meet you.**
> 
> 本当にありがとうございます | **Thank you so much.**
> 
> いっしょにダンスしませんか? | **Will you dance with me?**
> 
> моё солнышко | **My sun**
> 
> Fun fact: I named Viktor's interpreter Mamiko in reference to a really cute anime called Monthly Girls' Nozaki-kun. XD
> 
> Feel free to check out my [Tumblr](http://gckinsey.tumblr.com/), or my [fandom Tumblr](https://trashiverse.tumblr.com/) (NSFW) where I reblog a ton of YOI stuff!
> 
> I hope you're enjoying this fic! There's one more short epilogue chapter after this one. Please drop me a comment & let me know what you think! :)


	2. Saint Petersburg

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls from the kitchen. “Did you have enough space in the dresser or do we need to get a bigger one?”

“No,” Yuuri answers, “there was plenty of room. The bottom drawer is still empty.”

“I guess that means I’ll have to take you shopping for some fancy new underwear, then!” Viktor giggles over the sound of the dishwasher.

The last few days have been a whirlwind of rearranging Viktor’s apartment to make room for Yuuri’s things. Yuuri has been so busy unpacking that he’s barely had a chance to catch up on the sleep he lost during the series of train rides and flights from Hasetsu to Saint Petersburg. He’s glad he has the week off from practice to get settled in, or he doesn’t think he could survive. But in spite of all the stress he’s under, he wouldn’t trade this new life with Viktor for anything in the world.

“Is it okay if I put a few keepsakes in the top drawer?” Yuuri asks. He’d noticed a few of Viktor’s travel souvenirs stored there earlier when he’d been rearranging the dresser to make room for his own underwear and gym clothes.

“Sure, go ahead!” Viktor says. “If you need me to come help move something, just let me know, okay?”

“All right,” Yuuri says. He opens the drawer and assesses how much space he’ll need for the things he used to keep in one of the drawers of his bedside table back at the onsen — Vicchan’s collar, a good luck card from the Nishigori triplets before his first Nationals, a hand-painted hamster keychain from Phichit, and a collection of letters and notes from care packages his parents had sent him all through college. Viktor’s trinkets are pretty widely spaced out, so Yuuri carefully shifts them over to the left side of the drawer to clear a space for his items on the right. In the process, his hand brushes against a ratty, folded scrap of paper.

He knows he should ask Viktor about it, but his curiosity gets the better of him and he unfolds it. Being extra mindful of the way the creases have weakened the paper, he flattens it out on top of the dresser to read it.

There are two paragraphs in Viktor’s handwriting. The one at the top of the page is a bit of a mess, with words (mostly English, some Russian) scribbled out and replaced by different ones here and there. The second paragraph looks neater, but Yuuri isn’t really paying attention to it yet. He’s too transfixed by what the first one says.

It’s an apology — an oddly formal but still very sweet and heartfelt one. And it seems to be intended for Yuuri. About his disastrous first encounter with Viktor back at the Grand Prix final in Sochi… the one he’s taken to calling The Commemorative Photo Fiasco in his mind.

 _What on earth_ , Yuuri thinks, heart pounding and head racing as he reads the words over and over. _Viktor actually remembered that? And he felt bad enough about it to apologize?_ He’s always assumed Viktor never thought twice about that moment — never put two and two together even after coaching Yuuri, and after what had apparently happened between them at the banquet before that. He can’t believe Viktor remembers the moment they first met as clearly and unfavorably as Yuuri does.

When Yuuri starts reading the second paragraph, his jaw drops.

It’s the same as the first paragraph… in Japanese. The words are spelled out phonetically in the Roman alphabet, with notes on pronunciation added here and there in the margins. The more Yuuri reads, the more his head spins with confusion. He slides down to slump against he side of the dresser, the paper clutched tightly between his hands as he struggles to breathe.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there when he notices Viktor’s voice cut through the fog.

“…Yuuri? Yuuri! What’s wrong?”

Yuuri’s head snaps up.

“Viktor,” he whispers, holding up the scrap of paper where Viktor can see from the doorway. He doesn’t think to feel embarrassed about getting caught invading Viktor’s privacy, doesn’t care about the consequences — right now, he just wants answers. Voice trembling, he asks, “…What is this?”

Viktor’s eyes widen in recognition at the paper — and then his face breaks into a wide smile.

“Oh!” he exclaims, immediately bounding over to join Yuuri on the floor. “I meant to show you that after you saw the pictures from last year’s Grand Prix Final banquet!”

Yuuri gapes at him.

“When I found out you didn’t remember the banquet, I knew you wouldn’t remember this, either,” Viktor explains. “But anyway… I felt really bad about mistaking you for a fan and offering to take a photo with you. Yakov told me who you were right after you ran away and I could have kicked myself.” A light blush spreads across Viktor’s nose, making Yuuri blink in surprise. “So I called up my interpreter from Japan and asked her to teach me how to apologize to you properly.”

“…Uh,” Yuuri says.

“I still remember it, too!” Viktor grins, and he turns the paper purposefully away from himself as he begins to recite everything in the second paragraph, word for word. His delivery is a little stiff, a result of obvious rote memorization, but every word is perfectly clear. By the time Viktor finishes, beaming proudly, Yuuri is biting his lip to keep himself from squealing in delight.

“Uh,” he says again, clearing his throat. “I…” He has no idea what to say, so he blurts out the first stupid thing that crosses his mind. “I can’t believe we’ve been together this long and I’m just now finding out how hot Japanese sounds in a Russian accent.”

Viktor bursts out laughing.

“You thought my accent was cute at the banquet, too!” he says.

Yuuri pushes a hand through his hair.

“I… _what?_ ”

“You did!” Viktor says. “You even taught me some more Japanese… like こんにちは、僕の名は ヴィクトル ニキフォロフ よろしくお願いします。 And いっしょにダンスしませんか?”

Heat rushes up Yuuri’s cheeks, and he scrubs uselessly at them with his hands.

“Oh my God,” he groans, “I did _not_. Those drunk dancing pictures were bad enough, but now you’re telling me I gave you Japanese lessons at the banquet too?”

Viktor pulls Yuuri’s hands away from his face and threads their fingers together.

“Mm-hm,” he breathes against Yuri’s knuckles before grazing a kiss across them. “And I wish you would give me more.” He leans in to press soft, teasing kisses up the side of Yuuri’s neck. “How do you say ‘I want to fuck your brains out’ in Japanese?”

Yuuri captures Viktor’s mouth in a hungry kiss, and he can feel the rumble of Viktor’s laughter as he licks into his mouth.

“That’s okay,” Viktor pants when Yuuri finally pulls away to nibble on his earlobe instead. “You can tell me later.”

* * *

“Yurio,” Yuuri says in the locker room after their first day of practice the next week, catching the younger skater’s sleeve as he heads for the door.

“Hands off my jacket, pig,” Yuri bristles, “and stop calling me Yurio! Like I said earlier, we’re on my turf now… if one of us is gonna be Yurio, it should be _you_.”

Yuuri just smiles at the other Yuri, completely unfazed.

“Could you please do me a favor?” he asks.

“Why should I?” Yuri says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because Yakov said you and your teammates should make me feel welcome here,” Yuuri replies.

Yuri snorts.

“Like I care what that geezer thinks,” he says.  

“Uh… because if you do it, I’ll teach you how to make katsudon like my mother does?” Yuuri tries again.

Yuri’s mouth finally crooks into something resembling a smile.

“Better,” he says. “I’m listening.”

Yuuri takes a deep breath.

“…I need you to teach me some Russian.”

“Oh, please,” Yuri says, “you live in Russia now. You’re dating a Russian. You don’t need my help — you’ll pick it up fast enough on your own. And if you don’t, you really are an idiot.”

“No, no,” Yuuri clarifies, “I mean… I need you to teach me something specific. To say to Viktor.”

“Ugh, God,” Yuri groans. “It better not be something mushy and _gross_.”

“It’s not,” Yuuri insists, “I promise!” He pulls out his phone, where he’s typed a paragraph of text, and holds it up facing in Yuri’s direction. Yuri snatches it from his hand and pulls it closer to read.

“You’re such a liar!” he says as his eyes scan the words. “This is nauseating.”

“But you’ll still translate it for me, right?” Yuuri asks.

“No way!” Yuri snaps.

“Okay, then,” Yuuri shrugs. “I guess you’ll just have to figure out my mother’s katsudon recipe on your own.”

Yuri drags out a sigh and grinds his answer out through his teeth.

“… _Fine_.”

* * *

Viktor raises his glass with an exuberant smile.

“To Worlds!”

“To Worlds!” Yuuri repeats in unison with the other skaters as they clink their glasses together and take a drink.

They’re gathered around the dining room table in Yuuri and Viktor’s apartment, relaxing after a long day of practice with a homemade katsudon dinner. Yakov is in Canada for the next two weeks collaborating on a youth skating camp with several other world-renowned coaches, and Viktor is in charge of the rink while he’s gone. So naturally, he’s invited Christophe Giacometti, Phichit Chulanont, and Otabek Altin to spend some time with them in Saint Petersburg for training and general shenanigans. Tonight they’re joined by Georgi, Mila, and Yuri, who’d collected on his end of the bargain by closely watching Yuuri prepare their meal.

It’s been a relief for Yuuri to be surrounded by friends again — especially Phichit — so soon after his move to Russia. While he’s started to fall into the rhythm of living with Viktor and practicing at his home rink in Saint Petersburg, he still doesn’t feel fully adjusted. Spending time with Phichit brings back memories of their college days in Detroit and injects a spark of familiarity into his new life. And getting Phichit’s feedback, along with Chris’ and Otabek’s, on the way he’s refined his programs since the Grand Prix Final and Japanese Nationals makes him feel more confident leading up to Four Continents and Worlds.

When Viktor picks up the bottle of vodka to serve another round, Yuuri places a hand over his to stop him.

“Viktor, wait,” he says, “there’s… something I want to tell you.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, eyes widening as he glances around the table at their teammates and guests. “Right now?”

Yuuri’s heart flutters at how well Viktor has picked up on his usual preference for privacy. But he’s been waiting for the right moment to do this for a couple of weeks now, working on his pronunciation with Yuri in the locker room and at their joint ballet classes the whole time. He can’t think of a more perfect moment than this one, with all their friends around them.

He nods decisively.

“Right now.”

“Okay,” Viktor says, squeezing Yuuri’s hand. “What is it?”

Yuuri closes his eyes for a moment to center himself, then lets the words he’s been practicing flow from his lips.

“Vitya,” he says, “Я хочу поблагодарить тебя за твоё извинение, и хотел бы предложить своё личное. Прости меня, что я не помню твоего прощения, да и всего остального, что произошло на банкете Финала Гран-при - особенно поскольку та ночь была так важна для нас двоих. Я так хочу воспоминаний об этом, а не только фотографии. Спасибо что ты не забил на меня, даже когда ты наверное думал, что я отказался от тебя. Я тебя так сильно люблю.”

By the time Yuuri is finished, Viktor’s eyes are glistening with tears.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he says, and practically launches himself across the table to wrap Yuuri up in his arms.

Georgi, Mila, and even the normally reserved Otabek break into enthusiastic cheers. Phichit and Chris join them, even though they don’t understand a word of what Yuuri just said.

“What was that?” Chris asks, “a marriage proposal?”

“But they’re already engaged!” Phichit laughs.

“So?” Chris says. “You can never have too many proposals!”

“You know what he said, right?” Phichit asks Yuri.

“Yeah,” Yuri sighs, “this gross-ass shit,” and he pulls out his phone to let the other skaters read Yuuri’s original message:

 _I want to thank you for your apology, and to offer one of my own. I’m sorry I didn’t remember yours, or anything else that happened at last year’s Grand Prix Final banquet — especially since that was such an important night for us. I wish I had memories instead of just pictures. Thank you for not giving up on me, even when you must have thought I’d given up on you. I love you so much._

“Aww!” Phichit squeals when he gets to the end. “That’s so _precious_!”

“Seriously, Chulanont,” Yuri grumbles, “right in my ear?” but he calms down a bit when Otabek rubs a few soothing circles into his shoulder.

“I wonder what Viktor apologized for at the banquet,” Chris muses, eyes twinkling. “Wait — do you think _he_ was the one who got Yuuri so drunk he forgot everything?”

“No, that wasn’t it,” Yuri says. “Viktor didn’t recognize the pork cutlet bowl after the competition. He actually mistook him for a fan.” His lips crack into a grin. “I was there, it was hilarious.”

“You’re kidding me!” Chris gasps. “After all those videos he made me watch of Yuuri’s skating in the months leading up to the final?”

“It’s true, though!” Phichit says. “Yuuri told me about it. He was so disappointed in himself already, and that just made it worse.”

“So Yuuri remembered that but not the banquet,” Chris says. “My God… talk about a meet- _not_ -cute.”

“But they still ended up together,” Otabek says, “which means they must have the strongest kind of love.”

Yuri rolls his eyes.

“Or they just got lucky,” he says.

Otabek laughs softly and nudges his arm against Yuri’s.

“Probably both.”

At the other end of the table, Viktor has finally recovered enough from sobbing happily into Yuuri’s neck to look up and meet his eyes.

“Yuuri,” he says breathlessly, “where did you learn to say all of that?”

“From Yurio,” Yuuri admits. Casting a soft smile over his shoulder at the teen behind him, he calls out, “Спасибо, Yurio!”

“Okay, you can stop showing off now,” Yuri says. “And for the last time, my name’s not Yurio!”

“Yurio!” Viktor laughs over Yuuri’s shoulder. “You’re the best!”

Yuri responds with a one-finger salute.

Turning his attention back to Yuuri, Viktor leans in to press their foreheads together.

“I’m so happy right now,” he breathes, blue eyes glittering with delight. “I can’t believe you learned all that for me. I’m so proud of you.” He captures Yuuri’s mouth in a lingering kiss. “And I totally see what you mean about the accent thing,” he adds in a low rumble as he nips at Yuuri’s neck. “I’ve got to start teaching you more Russian, because _damn_.”

“ _Viktor_ ,” Yuuri says, painfully aware of all the pairs of eyes on them. “Later.”

“Later,” Viktor agrees with a sigh as he pulls back. Then he reaches into his pocket, eyes suddenly taking on a mischievous gleam. “Hey,” he announces to everyone around the table, “you know what this moment needs?”

“What?” Yuuri asks warily.

“A commemorative photo,” Viktor smirks.

Yuuri groans as everyone else bursts out laughing.

“Well,” he says in an exaggerated mock-grudging tone, “I guess that wouldn’t be _too_ bad. As long as you’re asking and not offering this time.”

“Pleeeeeeease,” Viktor begs, staring at Yuuri with his best puppy-dog eyes, “will you take a selfie with your number one fan?”

Yuuri snickers.

“How could I say no to that face?”

The photo of Viktor kissing Yuuri’s cheek while all their friends cheer in the background becomes their most popular one on Instagram yet. And the new hashtag they use for all their selfies — #CommemorativePhoto — will become a running joke on both their accounts for years to come.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the 2018 [Victuri Big Bang](https://victuri-big-bang.tumblr.com/)! Thanks so much to the organizers for putting on this event.
> 
> The gorgeous [art](https://watery-silver.tumblr.com/post/179477391473/that-was-yuuri-katsuki-from-japan-you-just) for this fic was created by the fabulously talented [watery_silver](https://watery-silver.tumblr.com/)! I absolutely love it & I'm so happy we got to be collaborators for this big bang. 
> 
> I also want to give a massive thanks to [bighouse.cos](https://www.instagram.com/bighouse.cos/) for the Japanese translations & [owlbearmedia](https://www.instagram.com/owlbearmedia/) for the Russian translations in this fic! I'm so lucky to have friends who are native Japanese & Russian speakers, & who are awesome enough to help me out with stuff like this even though they're not in the YOI fandom. Major props to both of them!
> 
> I did my best to either include the English with the Japanese & Russian bits of dialogue, or make it obvious what was being said from context. But just in case, here are the side by side translations for the phrases in this chapter:
> 
> こんにちは、僕の名は ヴィクトル ニキフォロフ よろしくお願いします。 | **Hi, I’m Viktor Nikiforov, it’s nice to meet you.**
> 
> いっしょにダンスしませんか? | **Will you dance with me?**
> 
> Я хочу поблагодарить тебя за твоё извинение, и хотел бы предложить своё личное. Прости меня, что я не помню твоего прощения, да и всего остального, что произошло на банкете Финала Гран-при - особенно поскольку та ночь была так важна для нас двоих. Я так хочу воспоминаний об этом, а не только фотографии. Спасибо что ты не забил на меня, даже когда ты наверное думал, что я отказался от тебя. Я тебя так сильно люблю. | **I want to thank you for your apology, and to offer one of my own. I’m sorry I didn’t remember yours, or anything else that happened at last year’s Grand Prix Final banquet — especially since that was such an important night for us. I wish I had memories instead of just pictures. Thank you for not giving up on me, even when you must have thought I’d given up on you. I love you so much.**
> 
> Спасибо | **Thank you**
> 
> Feel free to check out my [Tumblr](http://gckinsey.tumblr.com/), or my [fandom Tumblr](https://trashiverse.tumblr.com/) (NSFW) where I reblog a ton of YOI stuff!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this fic! I'd love to hear what you thought... I really hope you enjoyed it! :)


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